It's Over 400,000!
by Ariaeris
Summary: In celebration of the fact that us Potter nerds have bumped the fanfiction count for this fandom up past the 400,000 mark recently, I thought I'd bestow upon you a reward for such a feat, in which Sirius most definitely does not stalk Harry. Slash, duh.
1. The Not Stalking

Inspired by the Harry Potter fandom recently breaking the 400,000 fanfiction-count barrier (seriously? Do we have nothing better to do with our time than this?), I wrote this.

As the first alternate title suggests, do not expect a masterpiece from me here. Said masterpieces are devoted to other things, like the third chapter of A Moment of Mercy, posted today, or the third chapter of The Falcon Cannot Hear, which is not going to be posted today (despite my promise of doing so), shunted to the side for this fic as it was.

I can almost hear the outraged cries from the three or so fans of TFCH.

Angry fan(s) aside, sit back and get your barf bags out; Ariaeris is back trying to write humor.

_Enjoy~_

**_Mwahahaha..._**

_**

* * *

**_

_**It's Over 400,000!!**_

_Chapter 1: Congratulations, Harry Potter Fandom!_

_Or_

_I Wrote So Many Fanfics, and All I Got Was This Lousy Fanfiction_

_Or_

_Gratuitous Use of the F-word; Too Much for a T Rating, Not Enough for an M, so I Rounded Down _

_Real success is finding your lifework in the work that you love. _

_- David McCullough_

* * *

It was a relatively normal day a few months past when Sirius decided that invading Harry's personal privacy was a swell idea.

He rationalized that if someone was stalking his beloved godson (other than him of course – and he wasn't doing that at all, he was _protecting _him by following him secretly wherever he went) he would be able to protect him from those who wished to tarnish Harry's oh so alluring innocence.

And who knows, maybe if he found secret lusty notes written about him in Harry's not-diary then he would be able to confront Harry about it. And then have sex with him. Because that's how things worked in epic romances like theirs.

Unfortunately for him, Harry's not-diary was not the most cooperative of things (his hand still hurt from where it had bit him, the blasted thing), and so the completely sane Black decided that he would have to up the ante if he wanted to win Harry's heart.

Which he didn't, because that would be _wrong_.

He was just protecting him from everyone else who wanted to screw his godson into the next century.

_Really._

* * *

It was a relatively normal day that found Sirius hiding in one of the bushes dotting the sides of Diagon Alley, a pair of Muggle binoculars clutched in his hands. Supposedly the contraption was supposed to let him see things far away, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out how the thing worked.

He tossed the still covered binoculars aside with a frustrated huff; these kinds of things were more Arthur's expertise than his.

Still, his failed plan A aside, Sirius found himself at a serious disadvantage in not-stalking his godson. Apparently, Harry had been invited to some random café that supposedly existed in Fanon!Diagon Alley by none other than Ferret Malfoy, and, after taking his anti-heart attack medication upon hearing that Harry had actually agreed to meet him, Sirius had immediately begun following them secretively.

It wasn't stalking, just him being a wee bit overprotective of Harry. Who could blame him though, when everyone wanted a piece of the only remaining Potter's luscious tush?

Sirius glared at a gaggle of giggling goblins standing just outside of Gringotts. They might deny it now, but Sirius was watching them for any unwanted actions against Harry from them. You could never be too careful after all.

Without binoculars though, how was he supposed to make sure that his godson was alright? Who knows what the filthy, ferret-y Malfoy was doing to him right this second? Why, he might be touching him, kissing him, raping him, talking about interspecies politics, and/or assaulting him for all he knew!

Successfully working himself up into a dither, Sirius immediately went to plan WiD of the 'How To Protect Harry's Chastity' plan.

* * *

"…and that is why House Elves should receive at least a minimum wage from their masters," Harry finished with a satisfied flourish, leaning back in his comfortable chic chair and sipping at his Venti Frappawhatevachino from Starbucks. Because apparently they existed both in the Magical Realm and in 1999.

They are just that awesome.

"While you do raise some interesting points, I find…" Draco trailed off, glancing at Harry's side curiously. Harry, used to the constant insanity that seemed to follow him everywhere he went, dutifully ignored the rustling presence. "Harry, why is there a moving shrub beside you?"

"What moving shrub?" Harry asked, not acknowledging its presence in the slightest.

"That one," Draco said, pointing with one long, elegant, glamored so as not to reveal that Draco had a horrible habit of picking his nails off, hand at the incongruous piece of horticulture.

Harry glanced directly at it, and he could almost hear the warning bells go off in Sirius' mind about being caught. "I don't see what you are talking about, Draco."

"But it's-"

"I **don't** see what you are talking about, Draco," Harry repeated calmly, gracefully dumping his steaming hot drink onto the bush. Sirius' screams were just as easily ignored, as was the plant's rapid retreat from the café.

"What?" Draco asked, his face scrunched up in confusion.

"Pretend it never happened," Harry suggested, calling over one of the waiters that the Starbucks of his time apparently employed.

"But-"

"Pretend it **never **happened," Harry repeated, not even trying to hold in his annoyed groan. God, if he wanted to be a preschool teacher he would have left the Wizarding world already.

* * *

"Why were you stalking Draco and me?"

"I was not stalking you or Malfoy."

"Liar."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Are too."

"I'm glad we are in agreement."

"…What?'

"Idiot."

* * *

Harry's diary was still being annoyingly uncooperative, and it had taken a trip to St. Mungo's to have his pinkie sown back on.

He would have to speak with Hagrid later on why he should not be giving tips to people on where they can find carnivorous books.

* * *

Sirius glumly rattled his almost empty bottle of anti-heart attack medication; he would have to go get some more soon, but at the pace he was going through them, he suspected that his local CVS (which really wasn't that local per se, considering he had to go to the States to get to one) suspected him of being a drug dealer.

Which was a ridiculous accusation; he might have been not-stalking a barely legal boy who happened to have been entrusted to his care by his parents in order to start a not-relationship of a not-sexual nature with him and have not-steamy, not-sweaty, not-sexy man-on-man not-sex with him, but he was not a drug dealer.

The reason for the fragile state of the cardio- part of his cardiovascular system though?

Harry was sitting in yet another café, laughing his pretty little head off.

With Snape.

_Snape._

**Severus Snape.**

Sirius popped one of his last remaining pills, the very thought of their potentially friendly relationship sending him into fits.

It was true though; Snape in all his greasy-haired, hook-nosed, child-scaring glory sat across from the epitome of beauty (in Sirius', and too many others', eyes), a slight smile twisting his face horrifically into something that might some day, with years of reconstructive surgery, resemble something pleasant.

It was sickening to watch.

Time to go into upsilon mode.

* * *

"…and that is why House Elves should receive at least a minimum wage from their masters," Harry finished with a satisfied flourish, leaning back in his comfortable chic chair and sipping at his calming draught. God knows he would be freaking out about Snape being personable without it.

"While you do raise some interesting points, I find…" Snape trailed off, and Harry managed to take a long gulp of calming draught in those brief moments, Snape's compliment not fitting well with his view on reality. "Potter, why is there a moving shrub beside you?"

"What moving shrub?" Harry asked tiredly, wondering if he would be able to kill himself in he managed to slam his head hard enough on the table they were sitting at.

"That one," Snape said, pointing with one pale, grotesque, spindly, potion-stained hand at the incongruous piece of horticulture.

Harry glanced directly at it, and he could almost hear the warning bells go off in Sirius' mind about being caught. "I don't see what you are talking about, Snape."

"But it's-"

"SUBVERSION!!" Sirius screamed, startling the occupants of the trendy café as he jumped through the window, stunned Snape (magically, considering he had done well enough stunning everyone else with his little self-defenestrating-esque act), bound him rapidly (though the knots took a bit of time, more than enough for Harry to shake his head and plot his unseen exit), and then throw himself back out the window, carrying Snape with him as he ran into the distance.

"Fucking moron," Harry muttered after a long beat, and throwing some random change at a random unnamed waiter he rushed off before the vultures from the Daily Prophet could swoop down in at the scent of a new, juicy story.

* * *

"Why were you stalking Snape and me?"

"I thought you knew better than to ever mention that man's name in front of me! And I was not stalking you or Snape."

"Liar."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Are too."

"I'm glad we are in agreement."

"…What?'

"Idiot. Please tell me he is still alive."

"…Maybe?"

"Fucking idiot."

* * *

Sirius sat in Harry's room, not watching Harry sleep (it was daytime – there would be eight hours for that later), but staring at the not-diary with a careful eye.

"Surely you can sympathize with me a little bit, can't you?" Sirius asked it.

"Not at all, you insane little fucker," the not-diary answered back.

* * *

Even Remus was betraying him these days.

Sirius, perched precariously on top of one of the mass-produced table-umbrellas given to every café this side of forever, listened in on his oldest friend's conversation with his not-love interest.

"While you do raise some interesting points, I find…" Remus trailed off, and Harry stood up suddenly, his comfortable chic chair falling to his ground as he slammed his hands on to the table they were sitting at.

"What is with you fucking wizards and not being able to complete these fucking sentences!?" Harry shouted, and Sirius agreed with his not-not-yet lover. Some people just really had to go back to Wizarding grammar school.

"If you would give me a second," Remus ground out, and Sirius could almost imagine the vein pulsing over his ex-friend's eye. "I was just taking in a refreshing breath of air. It is a rather pleasant day, and I was enjoying the atmosphere."

"Oh," Harry oh-ed, sitting back down and falling over once he realized (quite painfully) that his chair had tipped over. Righting himself and the chair, Harry sat quietly as Remus grinned at him sunnily.

Sirius, who could see none of this, was wondering what the hell was going on below him.

"As I was saying, while you do raise some interesting points, I find that you notion on Sirius' lack of sanity to be as farfetched as your idea on providing house elves with salaries. Seriously, what were you thinking?"

"Well, it began with Hermione mentioning that house elves are seriously underappreciated members of today's society, and it kind of snow-balled from there," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "And besides, house elves like clothes (or at least Dobby, our token-different minority character for the Harry Potter series, does), just not from their masters, which is a rectifiable problem; give house elves money and they will be able to shop for themselves!"

"Wouldn't house elves buying clothes from themselves with their master's money, given to them or not, be tantamount to those master's giving them clothes?" Remus asked, and Harry nodded slowly, upset to see his non-tangible plan bursting into metaphorical flames. "After all, the house elf would not be able to buy themselves things without their master's charity, totally defeating the purpose of them getting salaries."

"I suppose you are right," Harry sighed despondently.

"Of course I am," Remus sniffed, and Harry would have been offended if the werewolf did not sneeze a moment later.

Sirius, wondering what the fuck was going on, hoped that they would be getting back to the infinitely more interesting topic of his debated sanity.

"Back to your issues with Sirius' sanity, or lack there of, Harry," Remus said, and Sirius would have danced over fate actually following his whims for once if he wasn't perched precariously on top of one of the mass-produced table-umbrellas given to every café this side of forever. Instead, he settled for quivering around for a few seconds, letting out strangled little cheers ever once in awhile. "I know he was in Azkaban for quite some time, but the last time I saw him he seemed to be quite sane."

"Your definition of sane aside," Harry snarked. "You haven't been the one being stalked by him."

Remus managed to let out a quiet 'stalked?' before Sirius tore through the mass-produced table-umbrella given to every café this side of forever, screaming his head off.

"IT WAS NOT-STAL-" was all he was able to get out before he slammed rather painfully into the table Harry and Remus had been sitting at.

And then all went black.

Seriously black.

* * *

Sirius woke to beeps and boops and all sort of sounds you only expect to hear in a hospital room or in a game of Pong. He groaned, whined, complained, and generally acted like he should belong more in the Incubation ward then in a hospital bed for a few moments before he froze up at the sound of a very familiar voice.

"Why were you stalking Remus and me?" Harry asked quietly, just out of his range of view, and Sirius could guess that he was sitting in one of those incredibly not-comfortable, not-chic chairs normally found in hospital rooms.

"I was not stalking you or Remus," Sirius croaked weakly, and he frantically wondered if his deep, sexy voice was irrevocably damaged in his fall.

"Liar," Harry sighed, and Sirius jolted at the teary sound of the other man's voice.

"Am not," he argued, struggling to turn to face his not-love.

"Are too," Harry said softly, and Sirius could hear him getting out of his chair.

"Am not," Sirius said urgently, willing his body to just _move_, because he knew Harry would never want to see him again after this and he wanted to just get one more glimpse of the man he loved, God, the man he _loved_, before he left forever.

"Are too," Harry whispered, and it almost sounded like he was walking away.

"Are too!" Sirius shouted, wondering if Harry would stay with him if he confessed his transgressions loud enough

"I'm glad we are in agreement," And there was Harry, leaning over him, rivulets of tears dripping down pale cheeks, retracing angry red lines that looked like they had been carved onto them days ago.

"…What?' Sirius asked, stunned by the state his love was in. Harry smiled frailly and leaned down to press his forehead against Sirius'.

"Idiot," Harry murmured brokenly and kissed him.

Undoubtedly so, but as his bandaged hands rose to wrap awkwardly around Harry's neck (and various mummy jokes flittered about in the back of his mind before he was able to squash them in order to focus on more important things), Sirius knew that he was more than content to be Harry's idiot.

* * *

I honestly didn't intend for this to be so fluffy. This was supposed to be a _parody_. A _joke_. I gave up the next chapter of a serious (no bad jokes! I already made one on his name!) fic for this, and I ended this with Sirius, stalker-extraordinaire, getting his man?

What the hell me? Where did the plan of Harry shutting off Sirius' life support and walking away calling him an idiot go?

Oh yeah; it went to development hell once I realized that I could never really kill Sirius (nor could I ever deny myself, and the world at large, more Sirry. Whether that world wants said Sirry is not important).

So just enjoy this mildly humorous fic and then get out your brain bleach so that you can forget you ever read this shit.

Oh yeah; you can review if you like, but if I manage to get a flame for this giant pile of idiocy, I am just going to laugh at you for wasting so much effort.

Ariaeris~

Ps: The Great Otherwiki in the Sky has informed me that Starbucks did exist in 1999. Who'd a thunk it?


	2. The Not Omake

It seems like everyone I know on this website are horrifically sadistic meanies. They in fact _wanted_ the ending with Harry killing Sirius.

Because, you know, that is first-class humor.

You all make me _sick_. So sick that I have decided to post the alternate/original ending just for all your sick, twisted, perverted enjoyments.

I hope you all enjoy it, bastards!

No, really,

Enjoy~

* * *

_**It's Over 400,000!!**_

_Chapter 1b: I Can Not Believe All of you Closet-Sadists _

_Or_

_Thank you Kamerreon for Putting A Quote From This on Your Profile, Earning Me A Lot of Readers_

_Have I inadvertently said some evil thing? _

_- Phocion_

* * *

Harry sat in his not-comfortable, not-chic chair as he watched his idiot of a godfather's steady breathing send the various machines attached to him into a frenzy.

Sirius had been stalking him (despite repeated admissions that he wasn't) for the past few months now, and Harry was a little annoyed with the older man's childish behavior.

So annoyed in fact, that he was about to commit murder.

"Sorry, Sirius," Harry said softly, a long-fingered, elegant, not-scarred (thank God for hand-on, apply directly to the hand) hand gently moving towards the machine keeping him on life support. "But I eventually want to date someone some day without you hanging over my shoulder. And I don't even want to imagine your reaction to when I lose my virginity."

As if his words were crystal notes from the angels' clarion trumpets, Sirius' eyes snapped open at his admission, pinning him with a fiery stare. Wincing, Harry flicked the switch to the life support machine, wrenching away from Sirius' soon-to-be corpse with a mildly overdramatic sob.

One Shakespearean-esque monologue on the fragility of life later, Harry turned back to look forlornly at his murder victim, only to screech in shock at Sirius. Who wasn't dead.

In fact, he looked quite chipper sitting in his hospital bed, inching away from Harry as if the savior was insane.

Harry was sure there was some horrific pun about pots, kettles, and Blacks somewhere to be found in this situation, but he was a little more concerned about his not-dead godfather than with his bad sense of humor.

"Why are you alive!?" Harry screeched, pointing at Sirius rudely.

Sirius glanced over at the life support machine that had not been attached to him at all (and had not even been on in the first place – even as he mentally spoke, it was whirring to life from Harry turning it on) and decided that if his not-target of his not-affections was going to be a large ham, then goddammit, he was going to out-hammy them all. "It was your LOVE for me that keeps this scarred heart of mine still beating, Harry!"

Harry leaned forward to rest his head against Sirius' bandaged chest and, much to his surprise, underneath all the plaster casts he could hear a fairly steady heartbeat.

"You're not a zombie," Harry remarked quite astutely.

"Baby, I'll be whatever you want me to be," Sirius purred, which probably would have been more successful if he didn't sound like a cigarette-smoking addict for the past sixty years thanks to a damaged throat.

"But I…" Harry trailed off, pouting, and silence reigned supreme for a few minutes. Sirius gazed at Harry inquisitively, wondering what the hell was going on (a frightfully common occurrence these days).

"Harry?" Sirius prodded, both vocally and with his finger against Harry's side, taking the chance to not-subtly not-grope his godson's not-sexy abs. "Why'd you stop?"

"This is usually when I interrupt someone when their speaking, and since the world seems to take pleasure in fucking me over, I thought this was when I was going to receive my due comeuppance," Harry confessed.

"Oh," Sirius oh-ed.

"Why didn't you die?" Harry asked, his head cocked to the side innocently and most certainly not-alluringly.

"Did you want me to die?" Sirius said absentmindedly, his eyes trailing over his godson's lithe form.

"Yes," Harry admitted, and Sirius jerked back in surprise.

"Well," Sirius said awkwardly, unable to deny his not-love anything, even if it was his own life. "If that's what you want…"

As if by magic, Sirius' body slumped lifelessly in his bed. Harry blinked a few times in shock before throwing one of the complimentary pieces of fruit that were sometimes found in hospital rooms at Sirius' head. It bounced off harmlessly.

The vase containing the hospital-regulated fake flowers followed in much the same route.

Harry glanced down at his lap, mildly concerned about the hand basket that had appeared on it with a slight pop. Inside it, a plushie Sirius waved at him before blowing a kiss and making a very-obscene motion with its hands.

Harry gave Sirius three days before he would come back to life, bored to death with hell.

* * *

"So this is hell," Sirius said glibly, looking around the stuffy doctor's office waiting room in distaste. "Somehow, I thought it might be a little bit more merciful than this. Seriously uncool."

"What are you in for?" A rough voice said to his left.

"I was not-stalking my beloved godson when – OH MY GOD, IT'S YOU!" Sirius shrieked, scrambling away from his companion as fast as ghostly possible.

The not-diary laughed rather maliciously.

* * *

Are all of you happy? You got your crappy, much more shoddily written original ending, all at the expense of sending Sirius to hell.

I hope you are all pleased with yourselves.

-Pout-

Ariaeris~

-SPOILERS/DON'T LOOK VAIRE!-

Ps: On a separate note, Adam lost. -Double Pout- I had sworn off Idol two years ago only to tentatively put myself at risk in order to watch the season finale; I was hurt yet again. Being with Idol is like being in an abusive relationship; the only thing certain is that you are going to get hurt and yet you keep coming back for more, unwillingly or not.

God damn you, AI, blight of my life and anathema to my soul. God. _Damn. _**You. **

And I am so not watching you next season - I'm already ashamed of myself enough for giving in to the media hype and watching the finale (which wasn't even good!).


End file.
